


i fell in love with the devil

by faerialchemist



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), But Mostly Comfort, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerialchemist/pseuds/faerialchemist
Summary: i fell in love with the devil / and now i'm in trouble / i fell in love with the devil / i'm underneath his spell(a collection of ineffable husbands/good omens drabbles all previously posted on tumblr summer 2019. i hope you enjoy)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. some unspoken thing

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Because these drabbles have already been written, I'll be posting one a day for a little over a week. After that, this will be updated if inspiration should choose to strike me (aka sporadically).

_an ineffable husbands drabble inspired my own shitpost on tumblr and also guardians of the galaxy vol. 2 because im a loser. enjoy my desperate need for softness™️_

~*~

Crowley and Aziraphale had their Arrangement, yes. A series of favors for each other, doing side jobs every now and then. All secret from their respective head offices, of course.

They still maintained that Arrangement, even after the world had almost ended. But now there was also… Something else between them.

It went unspoken. A silent… Agreement, of sorts. Again, kept secret from their respective head offices.

This Agreement involved meeting up more often. Visiting Anathema, Newt, and the Them together. Staying over at each other’s places. Going out to lunch, even dinner, more than once in a blue moon. Legs would brush under the table.

Sometimes, even, hands would glance over another, which gradually shifted to them holding each other’s hand, fingers intertwined so tightly it was as if they believed they’d never see each other again.

If their head offices found out, maybe they wouldn’t.

They didn’t talk about it. Really, they didn’t, no matter how much either of them wanted to. It was just… Some unspoken thing.

They were watching a movie at Crowley’s flat. This was rare - Aziraphale certainly preferred the comfort of his bookstore, and while Crowley would never admit it, he did, too. But Aziraphale didn’t own a 65" flat screen TV.

Aziraphale had chosen the movie. Some old romcom that Crowley didn’t give a shit about. Hell, even if the movie had been interesting, he was far too captivated by the dim glow surrounding Aziraphale.

Maybe he was hallucinating, but he could have sworn his angel’s head was adorned with a pale, glittering halo.

“Is something wrong, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, turning his attention away from the movie to the demon sitting beside him.

Crowley shook his head, somehow managing to tear his awestruck gaze from Aziraphale. “No. Just got… lost in thought.”

Aziraphale chuckled, giving him a tender smile. “I’m not sure that’s possible. I wasn’t aware you could think.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Thanks, angel. How flattering.”

Ever since the Agreement, their banter had been far more casual. Less sniping. Borderline flirting, in some instances. But they didn’t talk about it.

“Mm. I try.”

Without thinking, Crowley swung an arm around Aziraphale, resting it on the back of the couch. He seemed to do a lot of things without thinking these days - maybe his angel had been right about that. Not that he’d admit it.

Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley consequently had to pretend that his heart rate hadn’t spiked in response.

Crowley decided to ride the adrenaline rush. His arm shifted from the back of the couch to around Aziraphale’s shoulders, absentmindedly fiddling with the angel’s sleeve.

Not to be outdone, Aziraphale reached up and laced his fingers through Crowley’s, squeezing his demon’s hand tightly.

This was a forbidden territory for the both of them, or at the very least a new one.

Neither moved, hearts pounding so loudly they were sure the other could hear it. The movie continued on, the definitely-not-romantic music reaching a crescendo, but it went ignored. Crowley and Aziraphale only had eyes for each other.

Aziraphale hesitated, then reached up with his free hand and took off Crowley’s sunglasses, nerves causing him to fumble with and nearly drop them.

Crowley took the sunglasses back, but put them down on the table beside him. Neither broke eye contact.

“Hey,” Crowley finally said. Ugh. He sounded breathy. “Want to hear a joke?”

The corners of Aziraphale’s lips curled upwards into a soft smile. “Certainly, my dear.”

“Knock knock.”

Aziraphale frowned, confusion causing his brows to furrow. “What?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “It’s a knock knock joke, angel. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard one.”

The guilty look on Aziraphale’s face told the demon that he had, in fact, never heard a knock knock joke before.

“Alright, alright. Just say ‘who’s there’.”

“Okay. Who’s there?”

“Kiss.”

“Kiss?” Aziraphale repeated, puzzled. “Kiss who?”

“Kiss me.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitched as he stared at Crowley. Or, more accurately, at Crowley’s lips.

Aziraphale decided he had resisted enough temptation that day.

And so, they kissed. For how long neither knew. Aziraphale’s hands shifted from being clasped in Crowley’s to moving upwards and cupping Crowley’s face. God, his demon had perfect cheekbones.

Crowley found that his arms had moved from being around Aziraphale’s shoulders to being wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him so close that there wasn’t even room for air between them.

While there were many things in the mortal world that angels and demons did not need, sleep and food being two of them, oxygen was unfortunately a necessity. A consequence of having a human form.

That being said, they could go on far longer than a normal human without it.

Crowley was the one to pull away, unable to completely silence the nagging voice in the back of his head that warned him not to go too fast.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale murmured with a satisfied hum. “I think I like knock knock jokes.” He glanced up at Crowley. “Tell that one to me again sometime, will you?”

Crowley chuckled. “Sure, angel.”

Their attention drifted back to the movie. At least, each believed the other was watching the movie. In reality, both were thinking about the kiss they’d shared. What it meant. Whether or not such a thing could be considered part of their Agreement. If it would happen again. What they would do if their respective head offices found out.

But they didn’t talk about it. Of course not.

It was just… Some unspoken thing.

~*~

_im a sap hope y'all enjoyed_


	2. a most holy sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i watched Bohemian Rhapsody and cried at least 12 times so of course i was (loosely) inspired by it and had to write an ineffable husbands fanfic. i definitely listened to a Best of Queen playlist while i wrote it, too. i hope you enjoy and please forgive historical and medical inaccuracies because im sure there are some.
> 
> (I know Gabriel does not technically outrank Aziraphale but for the sake of plot he’s gonna be in charge of Earthly affairs.)
> 
> WARNING: There is usage of homophobic slurs at a point in this story. If you are sensitive to such, either be wary as you read or simply do not read this fic. Don’t worry, you won’t hurt my feelings if you stop.

~*~

“I’d like to be temporarily stationed in America.”

Gabriel looked up from his desk, every inch of it covered in paperwork. Glasses that Aziraphale knew very well the archangel did not need slid down his nose. Gabriel pushed them back up. “Why?”

Succinct. As per usual. Aziraphale pretended that he was not twisting his ring anxiously around his pinky as he spoke. “Well, I do read American papers every so often, and I’ve been keeping tabs on a certain, er, an epidemic, of sorts, that is happening over there.”

Gabriel removed the silver frames from his nose, folding them and placing them on his desk. “Right. The AIDS epidemic.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured. “Yes, quite. I assure you that I don’t intend to miracle up a cure for the disease. It’s best to let humans work through that on their own, I assume. I simply wish to - to ease the pain of those in the final stages.”

Gabriel was silent. Aziraphale began to wonder if he was pushing his luck with this request. He’d nearly been discovered with Crowley only two decades or so ago, not to mention his boss was not known for being the friendliest or the most sympathetic of angels -

“Yes.”

Aziraphale blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said yes, you may go.” Gabriel sighed, scrawling his signature on a document in glittering gold ink before shoving the paper away. “I have also been keeping up with information on the epidemic. Those victims could certainly use some angelic kindness right now, what with so many being rejected by their families even as they’re on their deathbeds. Beelzebub undoubtedly has a special place in Hell for those sorts of nasty people, I’m sure.”

“And we have a special place in Heaven for the victims?”

“Precisely.” Gabriel returned his attention to the stack of papers in front of him. “You’re dismissed, Aziraphale. Don’t stay too long.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale breathed, nodding. He was almost unable to believe everything had worked out so well. “Thank you, Gabriel.” Not wanting to overstay his visit and risk having the decision reversed, Aziraphale promptly left. He considered taking the back exit out, but it wasn’t as if he was in a rush. He still had to pack, after all.

It was quite a shame he couldn’t simply miracle himself to America. Airplanes were… Less than enjoyable, in Aziraphale’s opinion. But miracles had to be preserved.

He didn’t want to think about how many he might have to perform in the very near future.

~*~

_America, circa 1990_

Aziraphale had ditched his usual tartan suit for new tartan scrubs. He was posing as a nurse, working in a ward delegated specifically to victims of AIDS in the final stages. As much as it pained him, he refrained from miracling them back into health. God probably would not take too kindly to that, what with the circle of life and all, even considering Her infinite generosity. Instead, Aziraphale eased their pain as they passed to Heaven. If nothing else, they deserved to know that good things awaited them on the other side.

“Room 636, Nurse Fell,” a woman called to Aziraphale as he walked down the hall. Her voice had the rounded edge of a faint Southern drawl. “He’s got family with him right now, but they’ll be out soon.”

“Right. Thank you.” He nodded at her as she passed. Aziraphale had memorized the layout of the hospital before he’d started “working” there - it helped him maximize his time with the patients. Not to mention he had to be back in Soho before the end of the year.

“This is your own fault, you know.”

Aziraphale froze.

“You’re the who grew up and decided to be a fucking fag, goddamnit!”

He recognized that tone. It was one he heard all too often in the AIDS ward.

“And now that choice is killing you. Just like it killed your little queer boyfriend.”

Aziraphale resisted the urge to swear. Of course the voice was coming from room 636.

“Hope you’re happy with yourself. Hope you’re _proud_.”

The man’s words were laced with more venom than the world’s deadliest snake could provide. Aziraphale reached for the door handle, only to find that it had been locked. Very much against hospital regulations, but also rather common in these situations.

“This is the devil’s consequence. You know why they’re calling it the ‘gay plague’? Because only fags are getting it.” The man sighed, an intensified frustration bleeding into his tone. “You just had to be a queer, didn’t you? You had to be the family disappointment.” His voice dropped, and he growled the lethal blow. “I can’t believe I ever called you my son.”

Aziraphale didn’t care if Heaven reprimanded him. He snapped his fingers, unlocking the door and entering the room without a moment’s hesitation. He straightened his back and stared down the father. “Sir, I am going to have to ask that you leave here immediately.”

The man’s lip curled in disgust. “A queer nurse? I should have known.”

Aziraphale ignored the comment, standing his ground. “I must insist that you leave, or else I’ll be forced to call security.”

For a moment, Aziraphale was afraid the man wouldn’t go. But after a long pause, he left in a furious silence.

Aziraphale rushed over to the patient’s bed. He was young, in his late teens or early twenties. Still a boy, really. And that only made it all the more heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Aziraphale checked the IV in the boy’s arm, making sure it remained connected. “You don’t deserve to be treated like something is wrong with you.”

“Maybe there is something wrong with me.”

Sweat beaded the boy’s forehead, and Aziraphale’s heart ached a little more when he saw tearstains on his cheeks.

“Am I really going to Hell, nurse?” the boy whispered. “Was falling in love really a sin?” He closed his eyes, biting his lip in a clear attempt to keep himself from sobbing. “I loved him. I loved him so much. All I did was fall in love.”

“My dear boy.” Aziraphale pulled up a chair next to the hospital bed before sitting down. “Of course you aren’t going to Hell. Believe me, falling in love is no sin.”

“That’s not what my father thinks.” His voice was bitter. Much too bitter for someone who likely had just started university.

“Well, fathers don’t know everything,” Aziraphale replied. “Trust me, dear boy. There is nothing you have to fear in death.”

The boy wiped tears from his eyes. “Yeah? How would you know?”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. The Almighty really was not going to be pleased with him. So many miracles only a few minutes apart was sure to get him reprimanded. Or maybe it wouldn’t. He never could tell what exactly She would approve or disapprove of.

The boy’s eyes widened as he took in the sudden change of his surroundings. He tried to sit up, but Aziraphale stopped him.

“Careful, now. I’m simply giving you a peek into what awaits you.”

The boy shook his head in disbelief. “Is this - is this _Heaven_?”

“Indeed.” A part of it, at least. A lovely little spot of paradise that was reminiscent of Eden. Many enjoyed it when they first ascended to Heaven. A place to get acclimated.

The boy stared at Aziraphale. “You’re an angel.”

Aziraphale’s wings fluttered, as if responding to the query. “Yes, I am. I requested to be stationed in America to help ease the pain of those suffering from AIDS. People in the… Final stages of the disease.”

The boy nodded. A faint smile appeared on his lips. “That means I’m dying, then.”

Young people truly were getting more perceptive. “I’m afraid so, my dear.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the vision of Heaven dissipated. Regretfully, his wings went, too.

The boy sighed, leaning back more deeply into the hospital bed’s pillow. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m going to miss my father?”

Aziraphale didn’t respond. He knew an answer wasn’t expected.

“I’m going to miss him. Even if -” The boy’s voice cracked. “Even if he hates me, he was the only family I had. I forgive him, and - and I want God to forgive him, too.”

“She will,” Aziraphale murmured, his voice so low only he could hear it. “She always does.”

The boy’s heart rate was dropping. Aziraphale resisted every instinct in his body to save him. He could not interfere. It was not his responsibility to influence Earthly life and death.

“At least I’ll get to see Miles again,” the boy breathed. Tears were trickling down his face. “It’s been a long year without him.”

He closed his eyes.

The machine flatlined.

Aziraphale could sense the boy’s spirit leaving his body. He returned the chair to the side of the room, then slid the curtain shut around the bed.

“I’m sorry, angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t know when he’d started crying. “I can’t imagine even your lot could be responsible for this, Crowley.”

There was a pause. “AIDS itself is one of the final gifts of Pestilence unto Earth, despite that they retired eons ago.” Footsteps echoed in the quiet room, moving closer to Aziraphale. “But only humans could be so cruel to one another.”

“I know,” Aziraphale whispered. “And I think that’s the worst part of all.” He didn’t even blink as Crowley stepped in front of him, brushing away his tears with his thumb.

“There’s nothing you can do, angel,” Crowley murmured. “You know that.”

Aziraphale did know that. He hated it, but he knew it all too well. “I just - I just don’t understand. All they do is fall in love, Crowley! What could have gone wrong in human history where they started to believe that love was sinful?”

Aziraphale expected a witty comment in response. A dry quip about Catholics, or the Shaker community. He certainly had not prepared himself for a serious answer.

“When did Heaven and Hell start believing it?”

Crowley’s sunglasses slid down his nose. He took them off, tucking them into his jacket. They stared at each other, eye to eye.

“I’ve been - I’ve been wondering that myself,” Aziraphale stammered. His voice was hushed. “But it’s not my place to question it.”

Crowley shrugged. “The Almighty has been more forgiving as of late. Since it’s you, She just might allow it.”

“I - I couldn’t possibly.”

“I know, angel.” He sighed. “I know.”

Neither spoke after that. But neither made a move to walk away.

Aziraphale knew he had to leave. He had to report the death of the young man so the room could be available for other patients. But he couldn’t bring himself to step away from Crowley.

They stood only inches apart. Aziraphale wasn’t certain whether he’d reached for Crowley’s hand or if the demon had grabbed his, but their fingers were intertwined and Aziraphale knew damn well he didn’t want to let go.

“How did you find me?” he finally asked. “I don’t recall telling you I was leaving Soho. Or where I was going.” In fact, they hadn’t spoken since 1967. The night in the Bentley.

Crowley shrugged. In a rare moment of tenderness, his thumb gently brushed over Aziraphale’s knuckles. “The city feels different when you’re not there.”

“O-Oh. I see.” Aziraphale found his gaze drifting down from Crowley’s eyes to his lips. He didn’t fail to notice that Crowley had lessened the distance between them even further.

“Is love a sin, angel?” Crowley whispered. His free hand moved to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. “Because if so, it must be the holiest sin there is.”

Aziraphale would have laughed had the tension between them not been almost suffocating. “Well, my dear, I really don’t think there’s such thing as a 'holy’ sin -”

He was cut off as Crowley captured his mouth with his. Aziraphale found himself melting into the kiss, pulling the demon towards him. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, and Aziraphale placed his arms around Crowley’s neck.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He didn’t know _why_ he shouldn’t be, because every atom in his body was telling him that this was right, that this was love, that Crowley was all he needed -

But he couldn’t.

Aziraphale pulled away, certain that regret was written all over his face. He couldn’t bring himself to look Crowley in the eyes. “I’m sorry. You deserve - you deserve _better_ than me.”

Crowley laughed. It was harsh. Bitter. “I’m a demon, angel. I don’t 'deserve’ anything. It’s part of the job description. In the fine print. Non-negotiable. You know that.” He yanked his sunglasses out of his pocket and shoved them onto his face.

“No.” Aziraphale’s voice refused to move above a whisper. “You deserve everything, my dear. Anything you want. The whole world.”

“I don’t want the whole damn world. I only want you.”

Aziraphale forced himself to look at Crowley. The demon’s expression was unreadable behind the black lenses. “I can’t, Crowley. Not now. Not yet.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “'Yet’?”

Aziraphale nodded. “One day, I’ll - I’ll be ready. To go faster. As fast as you. I swear it. Just - Just not today.” And he meant it. More than anything he’d ever said. “Will you… Wait for me?”

A small smile appeared on Crowley’s lips. It was a rare sight, but one of Aziraphale’s favorites.

“For you, angel? Always.”

Aziraphale blinked, and the demon was gone. He didn’t know when they’d see each other again. He didn’t know what the future would hold for them, either. But when Crowley had left, he’d taken all of Aziraphale’s tears with him. As he so often did.

Perhaps his demon had a point.

If love was a sin, it truly was a holy one.

Maybe even one worth Falling for.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a mess, y'all. i love these two more than i love myself. i hope you enjoyed!


	3. i love you

Aziraphale noticed, among other things, that Crowley had his own way of saying “I love you”. Rather, the demon said _I love you_ by choosing not to say it at all. Words were not involved. Gifts, sometimes, often actions - but never words.

_I love you_ , Crowley said as he stared slack-jawed at an angel who’d just admitted to giving away his flaming sword, an angel who’d just admitted to defying God.

_I love you_ , Crowley murmured when she stood beside Aziraphale at the crucifixion of Jesus, comforting the angel and easing his doubts.

_I love you_ , Crowley said when he gave Aziraphale a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates - slightly smushed - to celebrate the bookshop’s opening.

_I love you_ , Crowley smirked as he handed Aziraphale the bag of first edition prophecy books, completely undamaged by the Blitz bombing. _I love you, and I know you love me, too._

_I love you_ , Crowley whispered as he accepted the thermos of holy water from the angel, as he accepted that Aziraphale wasn’t ready to go as fast as him.

_I love you_ , Crowley pleaded, begging Aziraphale to leave everything behind with him, to run away _together_ to Alpha Centauri.

_I love you_ , Crowley sobbed as he drowned himself in bottle after bottle of alcohol following the fire that he believed killed his angel. _I love you, and I couldn’t save you._

_I love you_ , Crowley breathed in relief as he saw a foggy Aziraphale within his glasses, when he saw a perfect Aziraphale pulled out of Madame Tracy’s body.

_I love you_ , Crowley said when he gently reminded Aziraphale that the bookshop had burned down, when he offered his place for the angel to stay. _I love you, and I’m sorry._

_I love you_ , Crowley murmured that night before kissing Aziraphale tenderly, passionately, with all the feeling of someone who’d been waiting for this moment for 6000 years.

_I love you_ , Crowley said as he asked Aziraphale if he could be tempted to a spot of lunch, almost laughing in disbelief at the switch they’d pulled off.

_I love you_ , Crowley breathed as they kissed a second time, this one short and sweet, a kiss stolen before Aziraphale could open the bookshop and allow customers in.

_I love you_ , Crowley grumbled when he agreed to do the gavotte _once_ with Aziraphale, in the privacy of his flat. _I love you, angel, but I’m never doing this again._

_I love you_ , Crowley laughed as they learned how to ballroom dance together, a surprise gift to Aziraphale on the one-year anniversary of stopping Armageddon.

_I love you_ , Crowley said when he gave Aziraphale a small flower, promising it would be the most beautiful plant in London but not telling the angel how, exactly, he knew that.

_I love you_ , Crowley mumbled when they were utterly wasted in her flat, drinking the wine she’d given to Aziraphale to celebrate the 215th anniversary of the bookshop being open.

_I love you_ , Crowley growled as they kissed a third time behind a locked closet door at Newt and Anathema’s wedding, swift but with burning intensity.

_I love you_ , Crowley said as he carefully combed through Aziraphale’s stark-white feathers, his touch gentle as he worshipped the angel.

_I love you_ , Crowley whispered as they lay together in bed, the tightest embrace, holding each other like tomorrow would never come. _I love you, and I’m never going to leave you._

“Hey, angel,” Crowley called as he walked into the bookstore. “Close the shop. We’re going out to lunch.”

Aziraphale paused in his reread of a signed copy of _The Great Gatsby_. A fine piece of literature, even if it was American. “Where did you have in mind, my dear?”

Crowley plucked the book out of the angel’s hands, tucking a bookmark in before shutting it and placing it on Aziraphale’s desk. “A picnic. In the park.” He spoke casually, as if it was no big deal, but Aziraphale heard the words that went unspoken.

“That sounds lovely.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off the front of his jacket before placing a chaste kiss on Crowley’s cheek. “Thank you. And I love you, too.”

Aziraphale was secretly pleased at how red the demon’s face got. “Flustered” was a good look on him.

“What?!” Crowley sputtered. “I didn’t -”

Aziraphale silenced him with another kiss, a kiss dancing with fire, a kiss burning with passion - a kiss that _lingered_. “My dear,” he breathed as he pulled away, “you didn’t need to.”


	4. a kiss to make it feel better

“Angel, I really don’t think this is necessary –”

“But you’re hurt, my dear!”

“Using an entire tube of antibiotic ointment is a complete overreaction –”

“I don’t want to risk the cut getting infected!”

“Also, a whole roll of ace bandage is too much for something _this_ small –”

“I simply don’t want the bleeding to restart!”

Crowley groaned in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Angel. It’s a _paper_ _cut_.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, sighing. “I know, I know. I just get… Worried.” He placed the roll of bandages on the small coffee table beside him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’ll heal in a few days,” Crowley said. “I promise. And to be honest, angel” – he gestured to his finger – “this thing is so small it can hardly call itself a paper cut. My hand might be back to normal by tomorrow.”

Aziraphale watched as the demon wrapped a shiny black band-aid around his finger. Then, an idea occurred. “Well, at least let me try a neat little trick humans have to make it heal faster,” he offered. “It won’t take more than a second.”

Crowley shrugged. “As long as you don’t try to drown it in antibiotic again.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Alright. I promise.” He carefully took Crowley’s hand in his, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of the band-aid. “There,” he said after moving away, his voice laced with satisfaction. “A kiss to make it feel better.”

Crowley yanked his hand out of Aziraphale’s, blushing furiously. “You’re absolutely ridiculous, angel. As if that will do anything.”

Aziraphale shrugged, a coy smile dancing on his lips. “Perhaps not, but nevertheless – no harm done.”

Crowley snorted. “Right.” There was a beat or two of silence between them. Then Crowley cast the angel a sly smirk, tapping his lips with his bandaged finger. “You know, I think I’ve got a cut here now.” He raised an eyebrow. The blush that still dusted his features did not contribute whatsoever to his attempt at being suave. “Kiss it to make it feel better?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Very well.” He sat down next to the demon. “Come here,” he murmured before leaning in and capturing Crowley’s lips with his.

(By the time they stopped for air, the paper cut had healed.)


	5. contacts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on a post by marveliciousfanace (tumblr)

~*~

Crowley, if he was to be quite honest, had never had too much trouble blending into the human populace. He was not the type of demon to wear a lizard on his head, or have blistering boils scattered about his face. That always seemed a bit too goreish for his style.

In other words, Crowley simply had to keep his eyes hidden. A trivial task, all things considered. Thanks to a lovely invention known as “glasses”, it had never been too difficult. He even changed the frames every century or so, just to keep up face.

Sort of.

But now humans had invented a wonderful little thing called _contacts_. These “contacts” provided Crowley with a fantastic excuse, for one, to simply not wear his glasses, though this excuse did not abate the human tendency to stare. More importantly, however, contacts offered Crowley a brand new and rather exciting method to disguise his snakelike pupils.

Crowley ended up selecting brown contacts. The most common human eye color - warm, unassuming, the author’s favorite eye color, and a perfect match to his dark aesthetic. Exactly what he needed.

He couldn’t choose blue. Blue reminded him of…

Well, blue was too angelic.

However, much to Crowley’s dismay, he did not take into account the amount of time it would take to put _in_ his new contacts. Why the hell were the damned things so slippery?!

He cursed as the contacts refused to suction to his eyes for the umpteenth time. If he couldn’t work out the secret to contacts within the next five minutes, he was going to be late to his meet-up with Aziraphale for lunch.

Well, he couldn’t have that.

Two minutes and three failures later, Crowley was ready to tear his hair out in frustration.

Fortunately, one demonic miracle and a three-minute trip in the Bentley later, Crowley had arrived at a certain angel’s bookstore, flashing a new look of dark brown eyes.

Crowley ignored the CLOSED sign on the door, as he did every time he came. “Sorry I’m late, angel,” he called as he entered, pushing the door shut with his foot behind him and also completely aware that he was exactly on time. “Got a little something in my eye on the way here.”

“Perfect timing, actually!” Aziraphale replied. He was shelving books on the far side of the shop. “I could use a hand before we leave for lunch.”

“Alright.” Crowley made his way to the angel, carefully avoiding the stacks of books piled up on the floor. “Where did you have in mind to eat today?”

“Well, I was thinking that perhaps we could go to a little café that opened up not far -” Aziraphale stopped abruptly as Crowley turned the corner around the shelf, coming face to face with the angel.

Crowley frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Aziraphale didn’t reply, instead grabbing the demon by the collar and shoving him backward into a patch of light pouring through one of the bookshop’s windows.

Crowley didn’t know whether to feel threatened or aroused.

Aziraphale reached up to cup Crowley’s cheeks, his thumbs brushing just beneath the demon’s eyes.

Crowley knew his face had to be as red as his hair. Fantastic.

The two were so close their chests were nearly touching, which concerned Crowley only because he didn’t want the angel to hear how his heart was practically pounding out of his chest.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, “whatever happened to your beautiful eyes?”

Crowley blinked. This was not the reaction he’d expected. “They’re contacts, angel. So I won’t have to wear sunglasses all the time.”

Aziraphale frowned. The disappointment flickering in his eyes was like a knife to Crowley’s stomach. “Oh. I heard about those. I’ll just… I’ll just have to get used to this new look, then.”

Crowley was very aware of the fact that Aziraphale was still pressed up against him. Not that he minded. “Do you not like it?”

Aziraphale sighed. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I simply…” His thumb brushed Crowley’s cheek again. “Your natural eyes are so lovely, my dear.”

Being a demon meant that Anthony J. Crowley was not in a business that involved receiving compliments. An occasional commendation for being good at being bad, maybe, but certainly not compliments on his physical appearance. Furthermore, never by an _angel_ , of all beings.

Yet here he was, Aziraphale standing in front of him, still holding Crowley’s face in his hands like he was the angel’s entire world.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and the contacts vanished. Not wanting his moment of vulnerability to last any longer than necessary, he then miracled himself a pair of sunglasses. He tried to put them on, but Aziraphale gently stopped him.

“You don’t have to wear them here, you know. With me. I - I do love your eyes, my dear. But.” He gave the demon a soft smile. “I understand if you don’t want to. It’s your choice.”

Crowley hesitated. After a long pause, he chuckled, hanging the sunglasses on the front of his shirt. “Only you, angel. Only you.”

Aziraphale beamed at him before taking a step away, which allowed Crowley’s heart to finally stop racing.

For the most part, anyways.

“You know,” the angel said, turning to continue shelving a stack of books, “I think we might miss our reservation at the café. You wouldn’t mind staying here instead, would you?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Is this an excuse to keep my sunglasses off?”

Aziraphale shrugged, but Crowley didn’t miss the teasing smile that danced on his lips. “That’s entirely up to you, my dear.”

Crowley didn’t respond, instead joining the angel in shelving books. And if they stood a little closer than necessary, neither brought it up. Any brushing of their hands was purely accidental. But if their fingers happened to intertwine… Well, that was more than a little intentional. And after that?

Crowley never wore contacts again.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crowley’s struggle with putting in contacts is definitely based off of personal experience


	6. how to build a universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in which aziraphale comforts crowley, and the night sky falls down to earth)

~*~

“Sometimes I miss the stars.”

Crowley’s voice was hushed, so low Aziraphale nearly missed his words altogether.

They were lying in bed, a habit they’d recently taken to - sometimes at the flat, other times at the bookshop. They didn’t always sleep. There tended to be cuddling involved, or reading the newspapers of their respective head offices, or sometimes simply chatting about whatever it was that came to mind.

Currently, it was just past one a.m. They were lying back-to-back in the bedroom above the bookshop, legs intertwined.

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale murmured, almost but not quite half-asleep. “We can go visit the stars together, my dear. Anytime you want.”

“It’s not that, angel.” Crowley rolled over onto his back. “I used to help build them. The stars. Entire nebulas.” He lifted his hands toward the ceiling, palms upward, as if he was tracing the shapes of memories long passed. “I filled galaxies with stars of my own creation. My own vision. Color. Size. Intensity. Entire worlds were within my grasp and every choice to be made was my own.” He slowly closed his hands into fists. “And now? Nothing. My stars are dying. Some have probably died already.” He sighed, and his arms fell down beside him. “Sorry, angel. Didn’t mean to go on a rant there.”

Aziraphale turned onto his other side, allowing himself to face Crowley, whose gaze was still cast at the ceiling. “Never apologize for talking, dear boy. I may not always know what to say, but…” He pressed a kiss to the demon’s temple, near the top of his snake tattoo. “I will _always_ listen to you.” He reached out and slipped his hand into Crowley’s. “Tell me everything about the stars, my dear. What is it like to build a universe?”

A small smile flitted onto Crowley’s lips, and he gave Aziraphale’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, angel.”

~*~

The next day, Aziraphale did not open the bookshop. “I’ll be back this evening,” he called to Crowley before he left. “I have a few errands to run. Materials to pick up. Be here around eight or nine, please. See you then!” He made sure to leave before the demon could get in a word of protest edgewise.

While he was out, Aziraphale visited a dozen stores, buying what ended up being a total of three bags of crafting supplies. It had originally been four, but a bottle of paint had spilled and tossing the entire bag away had simply been the best option.

Aziraphale returned to the bookshop at exactly eight. “I’m back,” he called as he entered, closing the door behind him with his foot. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

Crowley was lounging in a chair at the back of the shop, flipping through a magazine about astronomy. “Not really. Some college student came by earlier. Wanted to give you a gift card to the sushi place downtown.” He raised an eyebrow. “Got a secret admirer, angel?”

Aziraphale laughed. “I bet that was Jeremy. I helped him do some research for this thesis, and since he knows I love sushi, I’m sure the gift card was his way of saying ‘thank you’.”

“Oh.” A guilty look flashed on Crowley’s face. “I may or may not have… Turned him away.”

Scared him half to death, more like, if the demon’s expression was anything to go on. Aziraphale clicked his tongue in a mix of disappointment and amusement. “You can be so ridiculous, Crowley.”

“Anyways,” the demon said in a clear attempt to change the subject, “do I get to see whatever it is that took you so long to buy?” He gestured to the trio of bags still hanging on Aziraphale’s arms. “I’ve been waiting here all day, you know.”

Aziraphale was equal parts embarrassed and flattered by that statement. He’d expected that Crowley would return to his flat for most of the day to entertain himself, but to hear he hadn’t… “Not yet. I have to set up a few things first.”

Crowley frowned. “Should I feel afraid or flattered by whatever it is you’re planning?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I guess you’ll find out!” he said as he climbed up the stairs. “I’ll let you know when everything is ready.” He hastily made his way to the bedroom, carefully placing the bags on the floor before shutting the door behind him. He had quite a lot of preparations to make.

~*~

Though it took several miracles - probably more than necessary, to be fair - Aziraphale had transformed his bedroom into what was needed for Crowley’s surprise. Tarp on the floor, bed transported away, paints and glitters lined up against the wall - oh, he hoped this was a good idea.

“Alright,” he called as he reopened the bedroom, yanking the door in order to pull it open over the tarp. “You can come up now.”

There was the quiet patter of feet as Crowley made his way up the stairs.

Aziraphale prayed the demon would like the surprise. There was a significant chance, he feared, that Crowley would hate what he’d prepared and thus choose not to speak to him for the next century.

Again.

“Angel.” Crowley was standing in the doorway, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s all this?”

Aziraphale clasped his hands together, doing his best to pretend he was perfectly calm. “Well, when I went out today I bought some paint,” he began, gesturing to the assorted craft supplies lined up neatly against the wall. “I also purchased a few containers of glitter. I think some of the paint may even have glitter in it!” He laughed nervously, twisting his pinky ring around his finger as he so often did when he was stressed. “I bought paintbrushes as well, of course. And paint trays. I also got these small stars that you can peel the backs off of and stick on the wall. They glow in the dark, I believe.” He was rambling too much about his purchases. Time to move on.

Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley, gently taking the demon’s hands in his and praying his palms weren’t sweaty. “I can’t give you the power to create galaxies, my dear. And I can’t give you the power to hold the world in your hands, either. But…” He took a deep breath. “You can build a universe in here, if you’d like. Every decision, every choice to be made will be up to you.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, breaking eye contact with the demon. If it could even be called eye contact. Those glasses of his had a way of hiding too many things, in Aziraphale’s opinion.

He silently pleaded for Crowley to speak. The quiet, the complete lack of any sort of reaction was getting to be too much to bear. “I know I may be stepping out of line with this, and if I am _please_ tell me, my dear. But…” He trailed off as Crowley pulled his hands away and slowly removed his sunglasses.

The demon turned away from the angel, taking time to examine each wall. Aziraphale knew, somehow, that Crowley was looking far beyond the confines of the room. Perhaps even beyond the stars.

He waited for Crowley to speak, but no words ever left the demon’s mouth. Instead, he knelt down and began pouring paint into trays, sprinkling various colors of glitter into them, too. He rolled up his sleeves before grabbing a paintbrush, standing up and returning his attention to the wall in front of him.

Aziraphale paused. He felt that he was… Intruding on what was clearly an intimate moment for Crowley. “Well,” he said. “I suppose I’ll leave you to it -” He was interrupted by Crowley grabbing his arm, not saying a word as he placed a paintbrush in the angel’s hand.

But, after 6000 years, words weren’t always necessary between them.

“Alright,” Aziraphale whispered. He took off his jacket and dropped it on the ground outside the room. “Alright, my dear. We’ll do it together.”

And so they painted. They painted and they painted and they stuck glow-in-the-dark stars on the walls until the room had been transformed into the night sky. Colors spiraled from corner to corner, deep shades of black and blue, vibrant palettes of purple and gold, and fading hues of pastel pink and glittering silver. It was impossible to tell where one wall ended and another began.

Both had flecks of paint decorating their clothes, and pieces of glitter sparkled in their hair. There was silence between them as they stood together and examined the finished product.

“Thank you, angel,” Crowley murmured after a long pause, tossing his paintbrush on the floor. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale felt a relieved smile form on his lips, and he too put his paintbrush down. “You’re very welcome, my dear. I must admit, I was worried that -”

He was cut off as Crowley spun around and grabbed his collar, pulling the angel into an intense kiss.

Such direct affection was rare from the demon, but certainly not unwelcome. Aziraphale found himself melting into the kiss, reaching out to wrap his arms around Crowley’s waist and holding him so close there was hardly an inch of space between them.

When the demon finally pulled away, he didn’t let go of Aziraphale, nor did Aziraphale let go of him. Instead, Crowley’s hands moved to cup the angel’s face.

“You know,” Crowley murmured, “you said you couldn't give me the power to hold the world in my hands. But I’m going to have to beg to differ.” His thumb brushed Aziraphale’s cheek, leaving a glittering purple smear in its wake. “I’m holding my world right now.”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. Or maybe two. “Oh, Lord,” he finally said, softening. “You can be such a sap.”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe.” He traced a silver spiral on Aziraphale’s other cheek. “But I mean it.”

“My dear.” Aziraphale stood on his tiptoes to give Crowley a chaste kiss on the nose. “I know you do.”

And, as their lips met a second time, the lights in the room went off. Neither recalled doing it, assuming the other to be responsible.

Around them, the stars on the walls twinkled, a dozen shades of color and intensity. It was as if they were floating in the sky instead of standing in what used to be Aziraphale’s bedroom.

And maybe they were. All it took to build a universe, it seemed, was a couple gallons of paint, one or two bottles of glitter, and a few packages of glow-in-the-dark stars.

The most important piece, of course, was love. (Isn’t it always?)

And, fortunately for them, there was six millennia worth of love to go around.

~*~


	7. flustered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in which the author finds a dozen synonyms for “blush”, while heaven and hell go to war. sort of.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt by coffeecakecafe (tumblr): the slowly then all-at-once addition of casual physical intimacy into their daily routines?

~*~

The first time Aziraphale held his hand, Crowley’s face turned a shade of red darker than the roses he’d brought to celebrate the anniversary of Armageddon’t. The angel, thankfully, had politely ignored the demon’s flustered reaction and graciously accepted the flowers, commenting about how lovely they’d look on the windowsill above the sink.

The first time Aziraphale hugged him, Crowley thought he was going to have a heart attack. He instead buried his face into the angel’s shoulder to hide his embarrassment. Aziraphale, who truly was a literal and figurative angel, had simply chuckled and allowed the demon to stay that way for a moment before taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

The first time they kissed, Crowley was pretty sure he was going to discorporate. Fortunately, he didn’t. _Un_ fortunately, he _did_ turn into a snake, which was probably the most humiliated he’d ever been in his life, even if Aziraphale did insist that it was “rather adorable”. Apparently pining for 6000 years had done nothing to prepare Crowley for just how overwhelming physical affection could be.

After a while, of course, he got more used to it. In fact, Crowley preferred to be the one to initiate physical affection, though he couldn’t deny that he also thoroughly enjoyed when Aziraphale took the lead.

But despite Crowley’s adjustment, his angel nonetheless still knew exactly how to make him flustered. The trick was unexpected affection. Or, as Crowley had dubbed it, “surprise attacks”.

Sometimes they’d be watching a movie at Crowley’s flat, and Aziraphale would rest his head on the demon’s shoulder and slip his hand into Crowley’s. Crowley, then, would have to pretend that his heart rate hadn’t skyrocketed and that his face hadn’t reddened like an overripe tomato.

Other times they’d be sitting on a bench in the park, talking about everything and nothing, and Aziraphale would lean over and press a kiss to the demon’s temple. Crowley would blush and demand to know what, exactly, the angel thought he was doing, to which Aziraphale would respond with “you look adorable when you’re flustered, my dear”.

But, no matter what he tried, Crowley could never make _Aziraphale_ flustered. This was not to say he couldn’t satisfy the angel, of course. He knew very well that Aziraphale did not mind being pushed up against the wall every so often. Aziraphale was also fond of being on the receiving end of spontaneous acts of affection. (Oftentimes being pushed up against the wall _was_ a spontaneous act of affection.)

But nothing got Aziraphale _flustered_. Surprise makeout sessions, PDA, whatever - while it was all enjoyable for the both of them - could not get a reaction out of the angel. And really, that was frustrating Crowley to no end.

(He’d even resorted to asking Beelzebub for advice. The two demons had been on much better terms after the Prince of Hell had hooked up with the archangel Gabriel. Despite their similar situations, Beelzebub’s advice was virtually useless. If anything, their situations were _too_ similar. Beelzebub also seemed to be the one who got flustered.)

Crowley didn’t give up, of course. It was almost ridiculously satisfying to see Aziraphale blush and he’d be damned - again - if he couldn’t figure out the trick to getting the angel flustered.

One day, he got lucky.

They were at the Ritz, playing out their usual routine where Aziraphale would eat and ramble aimlessly while Crowley sipped at water or wine and listened. At that moment, the angel was chattering excitedly about how he was going to acquire a limited edition of the _The Crucible_ soon and that he couldn’t wait to examine Arthur Miller’s notes -

“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. This must be terribly boring for you.”

Crowley chuckled, offering Aziraphale a rare smile. “Not at all. You get this sort of spark in your eyes when you’re excited about something. It’s… endearing.”

Aziraphale blushed. “O-Oh. Well, as long as - as long as you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Honest, angel. It’s fi -” He cut himself off and did a double take of the situation in front of him. Hold the phone, ladies and gents and other respectable folk. “Wait. Are you _blushing_?”

Aziraphale’s face turned a deeper shade of pink. “You simply caught me off guard, that’s all. And not to mention we’re in public -”

“Oh my Go - Sata - fuck.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair, internally cursing his obliviousness. “Compliments! That’s it!” Of course it would be compliments that got his angel flustered. Aziraphale was a reader, a writer - words meant _everything_ to him.

Aziraphale frowned, trying and failing to send Crowley an intimidating glare. “I haven’t any idea what you’re referring to.”

“Oh?” Crowley raised an eyebrow, unable to keep a satisfied smirk off his lips. “So you wouldn’t care if I said that you were the most good-looking person in this room? That when you slowly lick food off your lips it’s so damn enticing? That the way you scrunch your nose up when you think is ridiculously adorable? That -”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale interrupted, his face so red it could have resembled the perfectly ripe apple from Eden. “You’re embarrassing me. What if someone overheard you?”

“Then they’d think we’re two humans - definitely not supernatural beings - that are in love and enjoying a wonderful evening together.”

“But still!”

“Well, I’ve got some bad news for you, angel.” Crowley leaned over the table and whispered, “I love how cute you look when you’re flustered.”

Aziraphale buried his face in his hands, muffling his reply. “I hate you.”

“Psh,” Crowley scoffed. “You love me.”

Aziraphale moved his hands away to glare at the demon. “You have no idea what you’ve just started.”

“Oh, but I think I do.” Crowley rested his chin on his hands, grinning. “But if it means I get to see this side of you more often, then I don’t think I mind. You’re hot when you’re angry.”

“ _Crowley_!”

The demon chuckled but decided to let his angel off the hook. “Alright, alright. Finish telling me about _The Crucible_. What kind of notes do you expect Miller’s written?”

Aziraphale brightened up immediately, launching into detail about the parallels between the Salem Witch trials and the two Red Scares in America.

Crowley did his best to listen, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his newfound discovery. Compliments! Really, he should have seen that coming. He’d have to start writing down every possible way to flatter the angel. That would be his ammunition for this war.

And really, for better or for worse, Crowley had indeed declared war by pushing the angel as far as he had. Of course, this was a war he intended to win.

Huh. It seemed Heaven and Hell would be going to battle after all.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Crowley blinked, Aziraphale’s voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “What?”

“You think you’re going to defeat me.” Aziraphale dabbed his mouth with his napkin before placing his hands on his lap. “I suggest you rid yourself of that foolish notion immediately.”

Crowley opened his mouth to counter, but he froze as he felt a hand gently tracing circles on his upper thigh.

“My dear boy.” Aziraphale smirked, his blue eyes burning with heat more intense than hellfire. “You don’t stand a _chance_.”

~*~


	8. to be selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in which plans are ruined, sparks fly, and selfish, selfish choices are made)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt by alltheprettygirlsintheworld (tumblr): First kiss? (I’m always a sucker for those) maybe one of them plans this whole evening where Things would Happen and Words would be said and the other one just skips right to the end.

~*~

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong had gone wrong.

Luck of the devil, Crowley supposed, though by that he meant he had the worst luck in history.

The picnic had been rained out, the Bentley had broken down, and even _after_ miracling the poor car back into shape, Crowley and Aziraphale had gotten stuck in a line of traffic that hadn’t moved whatsoever in the past fifteen minutes.

Worst of all, Crowley’s plan had also been completely and utterly ruined. 6000 years of waiting washed down the drain. Quite literally, too.

Damn thunderstorm.

Needless to say, the demon was not in a cheerful mood.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale murmured. An open book was resting on his lap, though even out of the corner of his eye Crowley could tell the angel wasn’t reading it.

He sighed. “Not your fault. Last I checked, angel, you can’t control the weather.”

“I’m not talking about that. I mean, I _am_ sorry it rained.” Aziraphale closed his book after tucking a bookmark between the pages. “I’m sorry you’re so disappointed, my dear. I know how much effort you put into planning this. Finding the right spot, and preparing the food yourself and all.” He chewed on his lip. “Is there anything I can do, or say to - to cheer you up?”

Crowley chuckled, leaning back into his seat and turning to offer the angel a soft smile. Traffic wouldn’t be moving anytime soon. He could afford to take his eyes off the road for a few seconds. “You can agree to come on a picnic with me whenever it’s not raining.”

Aziraphale beamed at him, and Crowley’s heart jumped into his throat, as it so often did when his angel smiled. “That sounds lovely, my dear. I’d be delighted to join you again.”

Crowley absentmindedly tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as the conversation passed. He frowned. “You do know, angel, that you don’t have to apologize for anything. I should be the one saying sorry for not checking the weather report before we left.”

A tiny smile crept onto Aziraphale’s lips. “I suppose we’re both apologizing for things we don’t need to, then.”

“I guess we are.”

Silence fell between them. The Bentley inched forward as rain pattered softly on the roof. Lightning flashed a brilliant purple in the sky, followed by a deep echo of thunder.

Aziraphale finally said with a huff, “Oh, just spill it, Crowley. It is not like you to be so - so _mute_ when it comes to a few cancelled plans. Especially something like this. What on Earth are you not telling me?”

Crowley’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. This was not a topic he wanted to discuss. Not now, at least. Not without preparation. He didn’t dare turn to look at Aziraphale. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My dear, you are _radiating_ dejection. It’s almost smothering! Why can’t you just be honest with -” Aziraphale cut himself off with a shuddering sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was even. Gentle. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Crowley’s gaze remained steadfast on the road in front of him. “Nothing’s wrong. I would tell you if there was a problem.”

“Oh, please. You wouldn’t. You never talk about your feelings. Not with me.”

Crowley stiffened so sharply at the angel’s words that he nearly snapped off part of the steering wheel.

“Good Lord!” Aziraphale exclaimed, startled by his abrupt reaction. “What was that all about?”

Crowley didn’t respond, praying the angel wouldn’t connect the dots.

(Then again, since when had God ever listened to his prayers?)

“Feelings,” Aziraphale murmured. He blushed. “I’m going to make an educated guess, my dear, that you were planning to talk about… Our relationship.”

Crowley bit back a sigh. Now it wasn’t even worth trying to change the subject. “Maybe.” He shrugged. “Not like it matters anymore.” A lie. “Don’t know if you noticed, angel, but whatever I might or might not have planned has gone to shit now.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “It’s not that bad.” He reached over, gently cupping Crowley’s cheek before slowly turning the demon’s head to face him. “Look at me, my dear.”

Crowley was distinctly aware of how red his face had to be. Extremely embarrassing. “But traffic -”

“- won’t be moving for another hour. We both know that.”

He hated it when the angel had a point. He sighed, reluctantly taking his hands off the steering wheel and turning so his body also faced Aziraphale. “Okay. I’m looking at you.”

“Now tell me what you planned to say at the picnic.”

Crowley exhaled, though it sounded more like a hiss. “I can’t.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Why not?”

“I just can’t, angel!” he snapped. “I don’t know what the hell I was going to say.” Not entirely a lie. He didn’t have a speech prepared or anything. All he’d wanted to do was hold the angel’s hand and - and see what happened after that.

He couldn’t risk going too fast.

Aziraphale softened. He had an uncanny way of knowing when the demon was being honest. “Alright. Then I’ll tell you what I planned to say.”

Calling that an unexpected reply would have been an understatement. Crowley somehow managed to nod in response.

Aziraphale fiddled with his pinky ring, taking a deep breath before he began. “I know that you love me, my dear, though I also know you would never allow yourself to admit that out loud. I can _feel_ your love. I’ve felt it since - well, since the beginning, I suppose. But I have never said that I love _you_ , dear boy. And since there’s no time like the present…” He bit his lip. “I love you, too, Crowley. So very, very much. And I have for far longer than I dare to admit.”

Inside, Crowley was already aware of this. He couldn’t _detect_ love like angels could, but he was no idiot. And Aziraphale had never been good at hiding his feelings. Eyes were windows to the soul, after all.

“And - And I’m sure you’re wondering why I waited so long to _say_ anything,” Aziraphale continued. “But I was afraid, Crowley! Afraid of what Hell would do to you if they ever found out about - about _us_.” He stared at the demon, and Crowley’s heart clenched as he saw tears glistening in the angel’s eyes. “For me… I knew that if I Fell, I Fell. So be it. But for you the only consequence would have been complete destruction! I couldn’t risk that something horrible happened to you because of my - because of my _selfishness_.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Your selfishness?”

Aziraphale managed a weak laugh. “Yes. Me, selfishly wanting to be with you. To be able to love you without worrying about any of the consequences. Just… Us.”

Crowley didn’t know how to respond. Or maybe it was the lump in his throat that prevented him from speaking. Either way, he was silent.

“But I’ve had enough of the - the _bullshit_ from our head offices. I’m allowed to be selfish every once in a while! And I don’t care if that makes me unangelic!” Aziraphale reached out to take Crowley’s hands in his. “I’m ready to go as fast as you want, Crowley. Anywhere you go, from Earth to Alpha Centauri, I will be there. With you. Even if that means you end up driving this blasted car a hundred miles over the speed limit.”

Crowley chuckled, squeezing the angel’s hands. Everything he’d ever wanted to hear was finally being said, but now that the moment had come, he could hardly process it. “Angel,” he finally whispered, “I think… I think I might be in love with you.”

Aziraphale laughed, freeing one of his hands to reach up and wipe away tears trickling down his face. “Think? My dear, I _know_ you are.”

Time stood still as Crowley took off his sunglasses and tossed them into an empty cupholder before slowly leaning towards Aziraphale, his head tilted, eyes shut, and his lips parted ever so slightly -

Then he hesitated.

_There is no “our side”!_

_I don’t even like you!_

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

He couldn’t do it.

“Dammit,” he muttered, letting his head fall and come to rest on the angel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” was Aziraphale’s reply before he lifted Crowley’s chin and closed the distance between them.

The kiss was gentle. Tender. And hesitant, neither wanting to rush the other. It was a kiss filled with patience and 6000 years of waiting, a kiss burning with passion and 6000 years of longing. Perhaps there was even a bit of temptation.

(Who was doing the tempting, well, neither could say.)

The kiss was broken when the car behind them blared its horn, startling the both of them.

“Bastard,” Crowley muttered as he drove the Bentley less than a car-length forward. “As if moving up five feet really makes a difference.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Humans always have places to be and things to do.”

“Yeah, well, if he really needs to be somewhere, he might as well get out of his car and start walking.”

“I suppose we’re lucky we don’t have plans.”

Crowley snorted. “ _You_ may not have plans, angel, but I do.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Really? What plans do you have?”

Crowley smirked. “I was planning to convince you to be selfish and kiss me again. Preferably more than once.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, though Crowley didn’t miss the small smile dancing on his lips. “Oh, you’re ridiculous.”

“Mm. I know. And you love it.”

“ _Well_ …” He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

(Although, as it turned out, his angel didn’t need much convincing. It was also no coincidence that the Bentley started to play “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” on repeat - and refused to stop. Some things, it seemed, were simply fated to be. A little selfishness never did harm anyone, after all.)

~*~


	9. killer queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in which the author is self-indulgent, aziraphale presents as female, and crowley is torn between holding on and letting go)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt by olivianeesan (tumblr): hm… I was wondering if there was ever a time in history when Aziraphale presented as female for any reason, and what (if any) reaction Crowley had. Or if Crowley helped Aziraphale with it.
> 
> i’d like to apologize in advance because my 1920s nerd had a field day writing this lmao

~*~

_Go to America_ , they said. _It’s the perfect place to plant the seeds of evil_ , they said.

Well, they’d been right. But that didn’t mean Crowley had to _like_ it.

Of course, his dislike wasn’t inherent to America, at least not necessarily. Though he’d never admit it, he’d been in a seemingly perpetual bad mood following his falling out with Aziraphale in 1862.

They hadn’t spoken since. And 60 years had already passed.

What was worse was that they didn’t usually leave off on such a bad note. And even if they did, they would reconcile within a week or two. But this time, they hadn’t.

Maybe that was what irked Crowley so much. The lack of reconciliation. Not to mention he wasn’t particularly interested in digging through his emotions to figure out what else might be sparking his frustration.

(It was possible, even, that a part of him was afraid to find out.)

That being said, Crowley ended up being pretty successful in America. He was successful everywhere, of course, but Jazz Age America truly was the perfect feeding ground for evil. Americans were always looking for a little sin. Speakeasies, bootlegging, the stock market - corruption flowed through the veins of this country.

Currently, it was the middle of the night, but the speakeasy Crowley resided in was thriving. Men were drinking, flappers were dancing, music echoed around the room - in about a hundred years, he was sure this scene would be quite picturesque.

“Hey,” a drunken man slurred, sliding into the seat across from Crowley. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Crowley muttered, taking a sip of his wine and moving his chair slightly away from the stranger.

“That Killer Queen is coming here tonight.”

Crowley paused, processing the news. Interesting. Then he shrugged, not bothering to answer directly. The man appeared to take the hint and left, which was surprising, seeing as he’d smelled like he’d bathed in whiskey.

However, despite the lack of care that he presented, Crowley had to admit his interest was piqued by the man’s question. The so-called Killer Queen was an infamous flapper that women hired to “test” their husbands’ loyalty. She presumably seduced them to see if they were willing to cheat. It was only a thing among the elite, really.

(No one knew what Killer Queen’s day job was, either, but a few rumors were floating around that she worked as a psychiatrist who focused on the trauma of abused women.)

Killer Queen was loved by half of the male population and hated by the rest. Despite this, no one could deny their attraction to her, including or perhaps especially other women.

If she _did_ show up, Crowley had to admit that he’d be interested in meeting her.

“Oh my God!” a flapper with short black hair shrieked as she rushed into the speakeasy, her feather boa slipping off her shoulders. “She’s coming! She’s really coming!”

Huh. Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

Crowley took another sip of his wine, then nearly choked on it as the Killer Queen entered the room.

He’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere.

“Angel?!” he sputtered. He cursed, almost biting his tongue as he realized it might have been better to keep his mouth shut.

Aziraphale glanced across the speakeasy, her eyes widening as she saw Crowley. Crowley tried to look away and pretend he hadn’t seen her, but it was too late. As Aziraphale passed by his table, she sent him a look that said:

_Meet me in a private room in ten minutes._

In reality, it wasn’t her look that spoke, but rather her words were spoken telepathically into Crowley’s mind. Sometimes being a supernatural being was convenient, even if telepathy did feel rather invasive. Tended to leave a person with an itch on the back of the neck.

Crowley found himself unable to take his eyes off Aziraphale as she walked away. The angel rarely presented as female, but he found her to be as beautiful as ever. The glittery silver flapper dress she wore hugged her curves in a way reminiscent of Bessie Smith.

Wait.

He was supposed to be angry at the angel. Not ogling her.

(Fortunately, Crowley had always been very good at multitasking.)

~*~

Crowley pulled the door shut after entering the private room, tossing his hat down on the table. “Fancy running into you here, angel. And as a _flapper_ , of all the fashion trends to choose from.”

Aziraphale’s face turned a pretty shade of pink, and she fidgeted with the strings of pearls hanging around her neck. “I needed to, well, it was _necessary_ to assimilate myself as a bit of a party girl, my dear.”

“So I’ve heard, Killer Queen.” Crowley sat down across from the angel, not particularly regretting the acidity of his tone. “You know, you could just admit that you came to _fraternize_ with the American elite. Wouldn’t hurt my feelings.”

Aziraphale stared at him, her face revealing no emotion whatsoever. Then she sighed, tucking an escaped strand of her wavy blonde hair behind her ear. (The angled cut looked good on her, much to Crowley’s irritation and attraction.) “I take it you’re still… angry about 1862.”

Angry? No, he wasn’t angry. Betrayed, perhaps. Frustrated. Tired of the 60 years of resentment that still boiled inside of him. But not angry.

(How could he ever be angry at her?)

Crowley didn’t bother to grace the angel with an answer to her question.

Aziraphale bit her lip, which Crowley noticed was an action cuter than it had any right to be. “Will you at least tell me why you’re here? In America?”

Crowley shrugged. “Corrupting souls. Committing evil deeds. The like.”

“Such as…?”

The silver ribbon that was tied around Aziraphale’s forehead and threaded through her blonde hair was distracting, though not as distracting as the lower-than-usual cut of her silver dress.

Damn, he was whipped.

“Urging Prohibition along, for one. Inciting a bit of gang violence. I’ve already gotten two commendations for encouraging bootlegging and for my help in facilitating the development of increased organized crime.”

Aziraphale chuckled, resting her elbows on the table and placing her chin on her hands. “I should have known your lot was behind Prohibition. The intention of the movement seemed too good to be true.”

“Without Prohibition, there’d be no speakeasies, no bootlegging, no Al Capone. As humans say, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. And while that’s not _literally_ accurate, it _is_ what happened here.” Crowley noticed that the angel’s nails were perfectly manicured. The relaxed manner in which she sat was ridiculously poised. “Anyways. Care to tell me what you’re doing in America, Miss Killer Queen? Besides the whole ‘seducing humans to test their loyalty to their partners’ affair.”

Huh. That came out more bitter than he intended.

Aziraphale frowned. “Who told you that?” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, my dear. I have not 'seduced’ anyone. Besides, I only agree to help the women whose husbands I _know_ are unfaithful.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “And how are you able to tell, exactly?”

Aziraphale pursed her lips (which were painted a rich crimson, and Crowley couldn’t stop staring at them), then sighed. “My dear… Trust me when I tell you that there is nothing more painful than being in a room with two people, one of whom is in love with every fibre of their being, while the other feels nothing. Worst is when they never have, and they never will.”

For a moment, Crowley did not respond, simply staring at the angel.

He wanted nothing more than to hold Aziraphale close to him and kiss her senseless, to kiss her with the passion of someone who’d been in love for almost 6000 years.

But he couldn’t. He’d never be able to.

An angel could never love a demon. Not like that.

And thus, therein lay the problem. He _did_ understand. Or at the very least, he was deathly afraid that he did.

Crowley laughed. It was harsh. Bitter. “No, angel. I understand plenty.” He stood abruptly, unable to be in her company any longer. “I’ve got to be going.” If he stayed even another minute, he might say something he’d regret. “I know you have holy business to attend to. All that jazz.”

Aziraphale stood, too, her brow furrowed in confusion. “But you’ve only just got here!” Her face reddened, and she broke eye contact with the demon. “Not to mention that it’s been… It’s been a while since we last saw each other, and - and had a chance to… Talk.”

“I have to go,” Crowley repeated. He grabbed his hat off the table. “I’m sorry, angel.”

“No,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” She glanced at Crowley, her expression determined and her blue eyes steely. “But as I said 60 years ago, I refuse to be a part of your self-destruction.”

Her stubbornness was as endearing as it was frustrating. “I know,” Crowley said simply. He placed his hat on his head before moving around the table to get to Aziraphale, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, just above the silver ring on her middle finger. “I forgot to mention that you look beautiful,” he said as he let go of her hand. “Maybe hold onto that dress for a rainy day. It suits you.”

Aziraphale’s face turned a deep shade of pink. “O-Oh,” she stammered. “Thank you, my dear. That’s - That’s very kind of you to say.”

Crowley turned around to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait.” Aziraphale’s voice was hushed. Her grip on his shoulder tightened, though not enough to cause any pain. “Will - Will I see you again? Soon?”

Crowley gently shrugged her hand off of him. He didn’t turn to face her. “Goodbye, angel.”

He was already halfway out the door before she responded.

“My dear boy… Be careful.”

And then he was gone.

~*~


End file.
